Clues for the Prodigal
by MagicSwede1965
Summary: Part 2 of 2. Leslie stumbles over a story whose ending she may not be able to bring about, even with Roarke's help. Conclusion of 'Leslie Takes a Holiday'.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This is the continuation of the previous story, "Leslie Takes a Holiday". A heartfelt thanks to TexasBethM for her very welcome review!_

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§ § § -- October 15, 1993

Little Mireille Latignon had insisted on keeping her father and his honorary niece company in the guest bedroom while Leslie was packing for her trip to her next destination. Tattoo watched his youngest child with indulgence and some bemusement as the little girl sat sentinel on the bed beside Leslie's suitcase, bright blue eyes watching every move the young woman made. "What's wrong, Mireille?" he finally asked.

"She go?" the child asked, pointing at Leslie.

"Yes, _chérie_, she's going to another place tomorrow," Tattoo explained with a smile that carried a trace of sadness.

"Me go too," Mireille declared.

Leslie stopped in surprise and blinked at her, then grinned wryly. "She's a talker, Tattoo," she remarked. "Maybe you have a prodigy on your hands."

"Oh, please," groaned Tattoo, rolling his eyes. "I've never seen a prodigy who wasn't misunderstood, mistreated, or both. Don't pin that one on my daughter."

"Okay, I take it back," Leslie said, still grinning. "But she's bright, all right." She knelt so that she was on the child's level. "Mireille, do you really want to go with me?" Mireille nodded, and Leslie tipped her head to one side. "But won't you miss _Maman_ and _Papá_ and your brother and sister?"

"They come too," Mireille said decisively.

Tattoo and Leslie both laughed. "We can't go, Mireille," Tattoo said. "This is Leslie's trip, and when she's done, she won't come back here. She's going home."

Solange appeared in the doorway then with Patrick and Antoinette flanking her. Antoinette looked surprised. "Are you leaving already, _cousine?"_ she asked. After some initial awkwardness from the two older children, they and Leslie had become friends, particularly after Leslie told them a few stories about their father in his days on Fantasy Island. Solange had been right; both children were equally fluent in French and English.

"It's time for me to go to my next vacation spot, yes," Leslie said, "and your little sister thinks I'm taking her with me." She grinned.

"Silly Mireille," Antoinette said. "_Maman_ would cry if you leave. Do you want that?"

Mireille stared at Solange, who took the cue and assumed an expression that made her look as if she were going to burst into tears any second. Mireille jumped off the bed and made a beeline for Solange, who picked her up and hugged her, winking at Leslie. "Children, why don't we leave _Papá_ and _cousine_ alone for a little while. I'm sure there are lots of things they need to talk about in private. Besides, I need help with some of these cookies I'm trying to bake. I don't think they're coming out exactly right."

"You need more cinnamon," Patrick told her as she shepherded the kids away. Leslie grinned again and shook her head, resuming her packing.

"You're collecting quite a lot of souvenirs," Tattoo observed. "I think you're going to have to get another bag."

"I brought an empty duffel for precisely that reason," Leslie said, reaching under the bed and pulling it out. "I need to be careful—it's already half full." She paused and regarded him curiously. "Are you falling behind on your paintings because I was here?"

"I'm on my own schedule," Tattoo informed her firmly. "I paint when I feel the urge to paint, and I do it as long as I want to. Having you here superseded that. It's not as if you live next door and I can see you anytime, you know. Why?"

"Oh…it just seems that since you showed me what's in progress in the studio, you haven't really worked on them much," she said with a shrug. "And Solange told me about those fall-foliage paintings of yours that are so in demand. I can see why—they're beautiful, every one of them. We could have easily sat and talked while you were painting in there, you know."

Tattoo shrugged, looking faintly uneasy. "Don't worry about it, Leslie," he said. "Just where is it you're going next, anyway?"

She eyed him askance for a long moment, then accepted the change of subject with some reluctance. "Lilla Jordsö," she said. "It's a small island southeast of the Shetlands, settled by Swedes. They still speak the language, but they have their own monarchy and are self-governing. My grandmother visited there as a child and told me about it once."

"I see," said Tattoo. "Solange has been there. You could ask her about it."

Leslie did so later that evening, long after supper and after she'd read the requisite bedtime story to Mireille. With Patrick and Antoinette busy in their bedrooms doing homework, the adults had a chance to talk more freely. "Solange, Tattoo says you've been to Lilla Jordsö," Leslie said, absently swirling the dregs of white wine in her glass. "What did you think of the place?"

Solange frowned and glanced at Tattoo. "Well…it was just before I found out I was pregnant with Mireille. I was dancing part-time with the Moulin Rouge Revival troupe, and we had been asked to perform in Sundborg, the capital city. We stayed in the largest inn we could find—a family-run place some way north of the city. I think it was called something that sounded like Lily Castle, or whatever the Swedish for that is."

The words triggered something in Leslie's memory and she suggested, "Liljefors Slott? That's the name of the place where I have a reservation."

Solange's eyes widened with unmistakable alarm. "You do? Yes, that's the place, but Leslie…I'm not so sure you should stay there."

Leslie stared at her, wine forgotten. "Why not?"

Solange shifted uncomfortably in her chair and stared into her own wineglass. "As I said, it's a family-run place. We never really saw anyone in the family, except for the desk clerks. But when we did…well, not all of us went through this; I didn't myself. I was sick in the mornings and keeping to myself and my own room. But some of the other dancers said that they did strange things they never would have done otherwise. They said it was as if someone was controlling what they were thinking."

This knocked on some hidden door in Leslie's memory, but try as she might, she couldn't get it open. _Don't have the right key for that one yet,_ _I guess,_ she thought. She mulled over Solange's words for a long moment before murmuring, "Mind control?"

"That's what it sounded like. To tell the truth, it sounded pretty spooky. Normally that kind of stuff doesn't bother me and I don't necessarily believe in it. But I guess being pregnant was working on my hormones or something, because it sounded plausible, and more than one member of the troupe was claiming the same thing. It seemed like too much for mere coincidence." Solange sat up, an intense, anxious look on her face. "Please, Leslie, be careful. You may be Mr. Roarke's daughter, but you're still…"

Leslie smiled a little ruefully. "Only an adoptee? I know, Solange. I'm just a mere mortal like most of the rest of us. But there's something familiar-sounding about all this. I can't pin it down yet, but maybe I will when I'm not really thinking about it." She focused then, meeting Solange's worried gaze and then Tattoo's. He wore the same expressionless, yet curiously mysterious and knowing look he used to so often don with Roarke's guests, but she could see his wife's anxiety gleaming from his dark eyes. "Please, try not to worry. I'll be careful. And anyway, you've got my curiosity piqued. I promise not to get myself in over my head if I can help it."

"But that's just it," Solange insisted. "I don't think you can. Once we left, everyone seemed back to normal, but it was just so weird…"

Leslie nodded slowly. "I don't blame you for feeling kind of creeped out. It _is_ weird, I agree with you. But something tells me this needs to be looked into."


	2. Chapter 2

§ § § -- October 16, 1993

She landed at the surprisingly small airport at Sundborg on the hundred-square-mile-or-so island of Lilla Jordsö, having arrived via a connection in Copenhagen, and looked up from the guidebook she had been reading in the attempt to put her emotional farewell to Tattoo from her mind. The island was somewhat hilly, almost as green as Ireland reportedly was, and dotted with trees resplendent in their autumn foliage. The city was an abbreviated skyline a few miles to the west of the airport, and she could see the thin gray line of a road snaking its way into the hills in the distance. It looked peaceful enough, she thought, disembarking along with the handful of other passengers on the commuter plane and collecting her suitcase at the baggage carousel before venturing out front and hailing a waiting taxi. She gave her destination and settled back for the ride.

The driver turned in his seat and peered at her oddly. "You are going to Liljefors Slott, _fröken?_ You are sure this is the place you will live?" His heavy accent and Swedish syntax brought back an unexpected flood of childhood memories, and she smiled unconsciously as she nodded.

"Yes, please," she said. "That's where my reservation is."

The driver looked dubious. "You must take a care," he said in vague warning before twisting back to face the front and sending the taxi ahead. She shrugged to herself and went back to the guidebook.

Lilla Jordsö was so small and out-of-the-way that to this day it was still overlooked by most travelers, according to the book. The island had first been settled during the Viking heyday by a group of Swedish Viking-ship rowers who, island lore had it, had taken long odds toward survival by leaping overboard from a Norwegian ship and swimming something like two miles toward the island they had seen in the sunset. Somehow word had spread, and from then on there was a fairly steady, if small, stream of Swedish immigration to the island. Among them, it appeared, had been a family with strange, supposedly supernatural powers, which the guidebook did not explain or describe. Leslie reread this passage a couple of times, wondering, before filing it away in her mind and continuing.

Nowadays Lilla Jordsö attracted a few hundred visitors a year and sustained itself mainly on trade with the Scandinavian countries and Great Britain; the population was a little over ten thousand, and they maintained strict adherence to the same _Allemansrätten_ rule that Sweden had: leave the land as you find it, clean up after yourself, and enjoy access to land while respecting the rights of others. Travelers were welcome to camp anywhere, with the permission of property owners. Leslie smiled; she wouldn't be camping, but she liked the idea. She knew it would appeal to Roarke, who maintained a careful balance between man and nature on his own island.

"You are here, _fröken,"_ came the driver's terse statement then, and she looked up. In front of her was a three-story stone inn complete with battlements and a round tower at one corner. "Liljefors Slott. Fifty _kronor."_

Leslie handed over the cash and slipped out of the car, pulling her suitcase and duffel behind her. The taxi immediately pulled away, describing a wide U-turn and disappearing down the road at noticeable speed. Leslie watched it go, shook her head and let herself into the lobby.

It looked deserted. It was sparsely furnished, but everything was blond wood and white paint, in the classic Swedish style. Slowly, gazing around her with interest, Leslie approached the check-in desk and tapped the little bell that sat atop it. Almost instantly, a pretty golden-haired girl, apparently in her late teens, materialized from a back doorway and smiled at sight of Leslie. _"God afton och välkommen,"_ she said.

"_Tack så mycket,"_ replied Leslie, smiling back. "I have a reservation here. My name is Leslie Hamilton."

"Oh, yes, forgive…I speak not so good English," the girl said. "My name is Anja. You sign here, and I get your key." She handed Leslie a pen and dug around under the counter; Leslie filled in her signature and reached into the duffel for her change purse. Anja placed a large brass key on the counter and asked, "How many nights?"

"Nine," Leslie answered.

"Good. Seven hundred _kronor_ each night," said Anja.

The startled surprise Leslie felt at this outrageous rate faded behind a sort of benign resignation, and she smiled and shrugged acceptance. "All right."

Once upstairs in her room, she collapsed onto the bed, feeling weariness creep over her, and only then did she think back. _Hey, wait a minute. She said seven _hundred_ a night? Even translated into dollars, that's ridiculous! And the guidebook said the going rate here was half that! I really ought to complain…_ Leslie yawned loudly and rubbed her aching eyes like a sleepy little girl. _But maybe later. I'm too sleepy and it's getting dark outside. I guess I'll just call room service and then get some sleep, and I'll argue with the front desk tomorrow._ She rolled over on the bed and lifted the phone receiver, promptly forgetting her intention to squabble over the room rate.

§ § § -- October 17, 1993

Leslie felt so refreshed when she awoke the next morning that she jumped right out of bed without ado, unlike her usual routine even at home. She zipped through a shower, dressed rapidly, grabbed her duffel and slung it over her shoulder, and trotted across the street to rent a bike. From there, she pedaled energetically towards Sundborg, with the intention of shopping for souvenirs and looking for postcards to send to her friends. The city skyline loomed around a couple of bends in the road, and as soon as she had rounded her first one, she felt her energy ebb quite suddenly and coasted to a stop.

_This is really weird,_ she thought uneasily. _What's going on here?_ She thought back over Solange's words and tensed where she stood astride the bike, thinking carefully back over the previous evening and her activities this morning up to this moment. _And I completely forgot to go to the front desk and give them what-for about that room rate. Solange said she thought it was some kind of mind control. Well, it sure seems that way to me too…although I have no clue just what I'm going to try to do about it. And for crying out loud, why does all this seem so familiar to me? Have I been through this before?_ She absently pushed off on the bike and pedaled more sedately in the direction of the city, puzzling over it but still unable to figure out just what the connection was.

She spent the bulk of the day in Sundborg, picking out a couple of souvenirs to take home with her and then buying a stack of postcards and writing them out at a café where she had a late lunch. Everyone she met was friendly and willing to help her; her waiter at the café hovered solicitously, asking her time and again if she wanted anything else. "Are you here for a holiday?" he inquired in impeccable English with a melodious Swedish flavoring. Leslie looked up from her latest postcard and smiled.

"Yes, I'm here for about a week," she said. "Maybe you can tell me what places I should see while I'm here."

The waiter smiled broadly and gestured at the empty chair across from her. "May I?" Leslie nodded, and he took a seat. "I am Lukas, and I've lived on this island my entire life, so I suppose I should know what you ought to visit. There is an entire preserved Viking settlement on the northeastern coast—named Birka, after the original name for Stockholm—that we believe may be the very first settlement on the island. And you may like to look into the _jordsklocka_ factory at Dalslund…"

" 'Earth bell'…?" asked Leslie blankly. "What's that?"

Lukas laughed. "Forgive me. It's a pastry, a specialty of the island, and it has quite a legend behind it. And then…" He continued on for another ten minutes or so, till Leslie finally held up her hands, laughing in mock surrender.

"Gosh, I think that's about all I can handle for a week! I really appreciate your help, Lukas. Maybe I can get a map of the island at the inn."

"Where are you staying?" Lukas asked, rising.

"Liljefors Slott," she told him.

Lukas stopped short and stared at her, eyes widening with alarm. _"Fröken_, I beg your pardon for seeming forward, but if you wish to have a truly pleasant holiday here, you must get out of that inn and find other lodgings. There are many pleasant hotels right here in the city. Liljefors Slott is a bad place."

"How so?" Leslie asked, radar on full alert. Maybe Lukas, as a native, could give her a little more insight into the odd secret Liljefors Slott seemed to be harboring.

Lukas glanced behind him; it was mid-afternoon and she was currently the only customer at the café. He resumed his seat and leaned over the table, staring intensely at her. "They say the place is inhabited by something…something not human. That's the story, at any rate. That inn has belonged to the same family since it was built in the late seventeenth century, and for a time it really was a castle. The Liljefors family arrived from Sweden about that time and raised the castle just where it stands now. At the time the city was little more than a village, and it was a half-day's walk from the city limits to the inn. From the beginning, very little was seen of them. They all looked like angels, _fröken_—beautiful faces, hair of spun gold, eyes the color of the summer sky. But there is a black power that they possess, and they do not hesitate to use it on others." He stopped, blinked and suddenly sat back, as if some member of the family in question had come within earshot. "No one is certain of it. They say it is mind-control…but it has never been proven."

Leslie regarded him in silence, processing his words. "Have you ever experienced it?"

Lukas broke his gaze, clearly uncomfortable. "No…but my father…" He stopped and shook his head violently, as though dispelling a shudder. "_Fröken_, I beg you, take my advice and leave that inn. It is said that once you have been there, you are changed forever. And it is also said that only one person has ever escaped their clutches…" Again he let his voice trail off; then his expression closed and he arose, regarding Leslie with a coolly formal gaze. "I hope your meal was acceptable."

Leslie stared up at him, bewildered, then gave up and took his cue. "Yes, it was, thank you. How much do I owe you?"

For a moment the ice broke in Lukas' blue eyes and he shook his head. "You owe me nothing, _fröken_—only that you leave that inn as quickly as you can."


	3. Chapter 3

§ § § -- October 16, 1993

Halfway back to Liljefors Slott, she stopped the bike again and poked through her bag till she found an unused postcard and her pen. Lukas' words remained fresh in her mind, and she wanted to record them before they got away from her. She didn't doubt that he believed every word he'd said, and she was more than half convinced he was right; so she wanted to be certain she had his account written down while she had a clear head.

Completing her task, she carefully hid the card away and continued on towards the inn with a jumpy feeling in her stomach. _I need to dispute that rate,_ she reminded herself, as if chanting a mantra, and repeated it to herself over and over.

Within sight of the inn, though, the thought faded away like powder in the wind, and she even forgot she'd had it. A peaceful sense of happiness stole over her, and a surge of cheery energy overtook her as well, so that she returned her rental bike and strolled into the lobby feeling as though she could walk all the way around the island.

"You have had a nice day?" called Anja from the front desk.

"It was wonderful, thank you," Leslie called back with a smile and continued on up to her room. Making her way to the second floor, she wondered idly why there seemed to be no other guests in the entire inn, and for some reason the thought stuck with her, as if penetrating the spell that must have come over her. Leslie stopped in front of the door to her room, key in hand, eyes wide with realization.

_They did it again! I must be really helpless in the face of this thing, if I let it take me over so easily. Father would be ashamed of me. And blast it, I know for a fact I've been through something like this before! I just can't think what, or where!_ Frustrated, Leslie pushed the key into the lock and threw the door open, knocking the side of her head with the heel of one hand as if that would jar the elusive memory loose. _Lukas is right, I've got to get out of this place. I can't think clearly around here. Besides, I can't afford that exorbitant rate they're charging me._ Before she could be distracted again, she withdrew her suitcase and began packing as fast as she could throw clothing into it, annoyed with herself and the desk clerk to such an extent that the emotion seemed to provide a block to any further tampering with her thoughts.

With a thunderous mien about her, she emerged into the lobby less than ten minutes later and slammed the key onto the desk, making the young clerk jump back with wide eyes. "I need to check out," Leslie announced. "Your rates are far too high, and I can't afford to stay here at those prices."

Anja blinked at her. "We make the price less," she said, gazing intently at Leslie as she spoke. Leslie's ire escalated and she shook her head.

"It never should have been that high to begin with. I'm sorry, but I'm leaving." She pushed the key across the counter at Anja. "Now, please."

At this point an older woman emerged from the back and asked Anja a question in Swedish; the girl replied hastily, her eyes still huge with something like fear. The older woman turned to Leslie and studied her intensely. "If you wish, we will lower the rate of your room for last night as well," she said.

Resolutely Leslie clung to her determination, which she could feel fading even as she stood there. "No," she insisted stubbornly, her voice sounding slightly desperate. "I stand by my decision. Just check me out." She looked away from the older woman and shook her head hard, focusing grimly on her need to escape.

"Please do not leave," Anja pleaded, sounding on the verge of tears. "We do as you wish, we make the price much smaller. I promise you this. Please."

Leslie made the mistake of meeting Anja's tear-filled gaze, and as if prompted, her own eyes filled too. Out of nowhere she felt unaccountably sad. "I…"

And that was when it hit her. _Oh my God,_ she thought. _Now I _really_ have to get out of here. I've got to talk to Lukas…_ She sucked in a breath and blinked back the involuntary tears of empathy. "Let me leave, this moment," she demanded more loudly than she had meant to. Her voice echoed slightly off the walls, and its volume finally made both the woman and the girl capitulate. Anja reluctantly checked Leslie out of the room, and Leslie grabbed her belongings and all but ran out the door into the street. She glanced at the bike-rental shop across the way, decided against it and started to walk towards the city.

§ § § -- October 18, 1993

Wide awake at nearly eight the following morning, in a room in a small city hotel, Leslie stared at the ceiling and ruminated over what she had gone through the previous night. The revelation she'd had the night before remained fresh in her mind, and she overturned her new theory with a feeling of unease, trying to decide exactly where to begin investigating. If she turned out to be right, she planned to cut her trip short and fly back home to Fantasy Island as soon as humanly possible.

Finally she decided the best place to start was with Lukas at the café. She got up and repacked her suitcase, then sat at the table near the window and appropriated the pad of hotel stationery that lay there. Thinking hard, sometimes waggling the pen back and forth between her thumb and forefinger, she composed a list of questions to ask Lukas, and resolved to keep after him till she got the answers she needed. When she looked at the clock, it was almost ten. She ripped the sheet off the pad, folded it a couple of times and stuffed it in the pocket of her jeans; then she donned a light jacket that she'd bought in Paris with Tattoo and picked up her duffel, slinging it over her shoulder and leaving the room with a sense of purpose.

At the front desk she asked where the café was located and was delighted to find that it was only a few minutes' walk from the hotel. She thanked the clerk and strolled at a leisurely pace along the streets, following the directions she had been given, till the little café came into view. She crossed the street and settled at a small table near the front window, glancing around and finding herself one of several customers at the moment. She pulled her list from her pocket and reread it critically, made a couple of additions and finally folded it over once again, sighing.

"Ah, _fröken_, welcome," said a familiar voice, and she looked up at Lukas, who was watching her with a reserved, wary smile.

"_God morgon_, Lukas," Leslie said. "Do you have any free time today at all?"

He stared at her in surprise. "Why do you ask?"

She drew in a deep breath. "I left Liljefors Slott last evening," she told him quietly. "You were right. They tried to get me to stay, but I managed to keep my wits about me, and I walked back into the city last evening. I'm at a hotel a few blocks from here."

Lukas' expression warmed considerably, and his smile widened with relief. "I am very glad to hear that." He glanced around at the scattered customers before turning a politely quizzical gaze on her. "Perhaps you are interested in a tour guide, then?"

Leslie hesitated. "Not exactly. I have some questions."

Again Lukas' guard went up. "I don't know you, _fröken_," he said coolly.

She nodded. "I understand," she said, "but if you prefer, we won't leave this café and I'll sit at this same table, in plain view of anyone passing by outside."

Lukas regarded her in silence, and she sat quietly, waiting. He looked away, thinking hard to judge from the expression he wore, and frowned, closing his eyes momentarily. At last he gave a sigh and nodded. "Very well. You should have some breakfast, however. Please, take a menu and make a choice, and take your time. When the others have left, I will call my sister to take over, and I will speak with you."

"That's fair," said Leslie with a relieved smile. "Thank you, Lukas."

Lukas nodded, expression still guarded. "Enjoy your meal." He turned away and left her table noticeably more quickly than he'd come; she smiled faintly and perused the menu at some length, checking a small Swedish phrasebook she had brought with her, before making her choices. Lukas brought her fare with only a nod of acknowledgement and after that left her entirely alone.

Another 90 minutes passed before the other customers left and Lukas disappeared into the back for a bit, returning shortly with a dark-haired girl in his wake. She tended to the lunch crowd while he came directly to Leslie's table and sat in the chair opposite her, his blue eyes chilly. "Before you ask me anything," he said in a voice that seemed to lower the temperature in the room a good ten degrees, "you will tell me who you are and why you are here. You have had me at a disadvantage since we met yesterday."

Leslie nodded. "Understandable. But I must ask you in turn to keep my identity private. I've discovered recently that I'm something of a public figure." She had seen it while touring Arcolos with Michiko and while exploring Paris with Tattoo; in the latter case, he had been recognized for the artist he now was, while she was spotted for being one of the hosts on Fantasy Island. She hadn't fully realized the extent of the fame of her father's resort till this trip, and had later reflected somewhat ruefully to Tattoo that it might have been a mistake to have new travel brochures printed the previous year that contained photos of her and Roarke as the hosts. It was a very strange feeling.

Lukas eyed her in confusion. "You are famous?"

Leslie grinned sheepishly and lowered her voice. "My name is Leslie Hamilton, and I'm from Fantasy Island."

His reaction was just what she had expected; he stared at her in disbelief. "You are the assistant and daughter of Mr. Roarke! But what are you doing here on Lilla Jordsö?"

She smiled and summarized her reasons for visiting the little island, then leaned forward. "Ever since I came here, I've thought there was something familiar about Liljefors Slott and the story behind the place. After the last day or so, I can see my sources were right." She glanced at her list of questions and drew in a deep breath. "First of all…tell me everything you know about the Liljefors family, please."


	4. Chapter 4

§ § § -- October 18, 1993

Lukas peered at her in bewilderment for a moment, then actually shrugged. "All right, I will tell you, since now that I know who you are, I can expect an explanation for all of this. As I mentioned yesterday, the Liljefors family came here from Sweden toward the end of the 1600s, as exiles. They had tried to settle in one Swedish town after another, but they were chased out every time. Their powers gained them such ill repute that they finally had to leave the country altogether; knowledge of who and what they were had begun to precede them, and townspeople everywhere greeted them with insults and stones. So they came here and finally found a place to live unmolested. You must realize that this was in an era when everyone in the world believed in magic, particularly black magic."

Leslie nodded. "Of course. Go on, please."

"From the first, they were a strange lot," Lukas said slowly, his eyes losing focus as he searched his memory. "They kept mostly to themselves, but they tended to intermarry with the islanders. One of the oddest things about them was that they seemed to produce almost nothing but girls. Men who married into the family found themselves heavily outnumbered, and they often became the fathers exclusively of daughters. And once the marriages were performed, it was as if these husbands were absorbed into the family stronghold; they were rarely, if ever, seen again. The Liljefors clan was not wont to show its collective face to outsiders, and over time the islanders grew suspicious.

"Unfortunately, by the time their true provenance was discovered, there was nothing that could be done about it. The family had grown in such numbers that their powers were too strong for ordinary folk, and eventually people learned to avoid their property. Only the most intrepid would do business with them. They eked out a living on their land and were mostly self-sustaining, but they lived in abject poverty for centuries. They turned their castle into an inn during the mid-nineteenth century, and at first there was little trouble getting people to stay. Visitors to the island never realized they were being manipulated, and soon the family's status had elevated to at least comfort, if not wealth."

"Ah, they moved up a few tax brackets," Leslie said with gentle humor. Lukas smiled faintly in response, and she nodded to encourage him to continue.

"But word got around," Lukas said. "After a time it was impossible for them to get new customers without using their mind influence; those who knew made certain to stay far away from them. They still made a reasonable living, at any rate." He shrugged. "And so it continues to this day. What else do you wish to know?"

Leslie had jotted down the gist of his lengthy reply, which had provided answers to several of the questions on her list. She then turned to the first remaining unanswered one and looked up again. "You said your father experienced this power?"

Lukas closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, looking pained. "Miss Hamilton—"

"Please call me Leslie," she broke in. "After all, I've been calling you Lukas."

"So you have." Lukas looked up and smiled, but it was a strained smile. "All right, Leslie. I beg you not to tell anyone else of this."

"I may have to tell my father," Leslie warned. "I have a hunch I'm working on, and if it plays out, I'm going to need his help."

Lukas nodded wearily. "Yes, but your father only. I must insist."

"You have my word," she said, meeting his narrow-eyed gaze squarely.

He studied her, then nodded slightly. "Well enough. My father fell in love with a Liljefors girl, some years before I was born. She was what you call the family black sheep, I believe. She hated the powers she had been born with and wanted only to live a normal life, away from her family and their influence. But the odds were against her and my father from the very beginning. The clan cannot read minds, Leslie, but they knew their Catarina all too well; and when she fell in love with her Kristofer—my father—it was a signal to them that she meant to break away.

"They met secretly, well away from the inn, but they were discovered nonetheless. By that time Catarina was expecting a child, and the family immediately prepared for a wedding, with the intention of pulling my father into the clan and shutting him away from the world as they had done with menfolk for centuries. But they didn't have the mental strength to control Catarina as they believed they did. She and Pappa drew up a plan between them: Catarina knew she alone could never escape the clan, and she didn't want Pappa trapped in that blackness forever. So she did the only thing she could do.

"When their daughter was born, she slipped out in the dead of night and met Pappa in secret with the baby. They both knew the child would have no chance of a normal life if she were raised on this island, even away from the Liljefors influence. Sooner or later she would be tracked down and taken back. So Catarina and my father agreed to send the baby to Sweden, where she would be placed with a normal family and have some chance at a decent and happy life."

Leslie's eyes were huge by this time; she had completely forgotten to take notes. "Oh my God," she breathed, feeling the excitement of discovery.

Lukas nodded, his gaze out of focus, seeing only what was in his mind's eye. "It nearly destroyed them both. Catarina renounced my father for his sake and melted back into the family. Since that day no one has seen her, and it's not known whether she's even still alive. My father mourned his lost daughter and the love he couldn't pursue, but he eventually married another woman—my mother. I have two younger sisters and a younger brother, and my father is happy with his family; but I know he hasn't forgotten our lost half-sister, even though he refuses to speak of her."

Leslie swallowed thickly and let Lukas' quiet words penetrate for some moments before she could bring herself to look at the list before her. Another question leaped out at her and she blinked. "Then…it was your half-sister you meant, when you said yesterday that only one person has ever escaped the clan's clutches."

Lukas nodded solemnly. "Exactly so. No one knows where she is."

"Did your father, or Catarina, name her before sending her away?" Leslie asked.

Lukas frowned. "If so, we were never told. Perhaps not; it might have seemed easier to them to give up the baby if they didn't name her." He sighed, looking curiously older than he had when he'd first sat down. "Sometimes we have thought to try to find her, but I think it would be futile. Some things should be left alone." This last he said deliberately, driving a meaningful gaze at Leslie. "You might heed that advice yourself."

"I don't know if I can," Leslie murmured, nervously drawing tiny circles in a corner of the paper before her. "You see…I think I knew your half-sister."

When Lukas didn't respond, she looked hesitantly up and found him staring at her, as if frozen in place, his face a mask of disbelief and shock. "How is this so?" he asked at last.

"I…it's kind of a long story, and it's a long way from ending just yet," she said with a deep, worn-out sigh. "Let me see if I can summarize it. When I was sixteen, an orphaned stowaway from Sweden arrived on Fantasy Island and hid in the home of my father's goddaughter. She was also sixteen years old; when Tattoo and I brought her to the main house, she told us that she had been adopted as a baby by a couple who apparently abused her as she was growing up. She explained to us that she had the power to make people think, or do, what she wanted them to; but it got her into so much trouble with her adoptive parents that she learned very early to suppress the ability and to present the façade of a regular, normal person. She had no one left on earth as far as she knew; she had been told her birth parents were dead, and she had no reason not to believe it. So Father agreed to let her live on the island till she was of age and could make her own decisions.

"There was a time when one of our friends exhibited a streak of racism, and it affected her in such a way that she lost control over her ability. It turned out she was able to telegraph emotions, as well as influencing others to do or think what she wanted. We all had a taste of what she was capable of, but after that she simply refused to speak of it at all, to anyone, including my father. She left the island three years after she'd arrived, with the intention of going to school in Stockholm so that she could become a fashion designer. We insisted she write to us, but we never heard from her. I don't know where she is now."

Lukas was actually trembling where he sat. "Those abilities you say this girl had—they are precisely those of the Liljefors clan." He leaned forward, anxiety and hope glittering from his eyes. "What was her name, Leslie?"

"Frida Olsson," Leslie said softly. "She and I developed a little bit of a bond when we first met, because my mother's mother was Swedish and Frida's presence brought back a lot of memories for me. She lived with Julie—my father's goddaughter—and helped Julie with her bed-and-breakfast operation when she wasn't in school, so we didn't see as much of her as we would have liked. Once we finished high school and most of my friends went on to college, we gradually lost touch. Then Frida left and dropped completely out of sight." Leslie pressed her fist against her mouth for a moment. "It's been nine years since I last saw her. There's been no word of her in all that time."

She and Lukas gazed at each other, both reflecting a whole parade of emotions at each other, each trying to fit the other's story with their own. Finally Lukas whispered in awe, "I think you're right. I believe this Frida Olsson is my lost half-sister." He sat up and slumped defeatedly back in his seat. "But what good is knowing her identity, if she cannot be found? Olsson is a very common surname in Sweden. The chances of finding her…"

"I know," Leslie agreed heavily. "That's why I need my father's help." She too sat back and stared into space, breathing deeply for a few seconds, gathering herself together. "I think I have all the information I need. I just wish I could do something…" She paused and gazed sadly at Lukas. "There's one small problem. Frida might not want to be found. I remember her telling us on her first day on Fantasy Island that she had no desire to find her birth parents. Her rationale was that, since they didn't want her when she was born, they wouldn't want her then, and for all I know she still feels that way. For heaven's sake, she thinks they're dead!"

"Her mother may very well be dead," Lukas said, "but her father certainly isn't. Leslie, this is too important—I think perhaps you should speak with him."

She frowned. "I don't know if that's the wisest thing to do just at the moment. It does seem like good news on the face of it; but as I said, we don't know where Frida is, and even my father will have a challenge to find her. Besides, it's all academic. No one can do anything unless Frida agrees to it. If she refuses, we have to respect that. And that's just what she did, from her first day with us. I think we're stuck where we are."

"We can't be," Lukas protested in anguish. "There must be something…" He propped both elbows on the table and rested his head in his hands. "So near but so far."

"Don't tell your father, Lukas, please," Leslie entreated gently. "It would give him hope at a point where we can't promise him anything. Look, if you'll give me your full name and a way for us to contact you, then I'll notify you if we manage to untangle this mess."

Lukas looked up and nodded slowly. "Yes, perhaps that's best." He whipped a napkin from the holder on the table, borrowed Leslie's pen and printed his name, address and telephone number on it in tidy block letters. "Here. This is where you can reach me, and this is my father's name." He printed something else under the phone number, then handed Leslie the napkin and pen. "Please, at least promise me you'll speak with your father about this. If anyone can help us, it's Mr. Roarke, I'm sure."

"I am too," Leslie said and smiled, hoping to encourage him. "Don't give up all hope. If there's a way, and if we find it, you'll hear from us. I can promise you that much."

Lukas nodded and raked a hand through his hair. "How is it that you came to this conclusion? Did something happen at Liljefors Slott?"

Leslie nodded and explained what had happened when she checked out. "The girl, Anja…she seemed timid and her English wasn't too good. She all but fell to her knees begging me not to leave, and she even almost cried. Her emotions transferred themselves to me—and that's when I finally remembered the time Frida's emotions did the same thing. That's what made the connection for me. All I needed was your answers to my questions to solve the mystery of where Frida came from."

"Now if we can only find her…" Lukas murmured.

Leslie stood up. "We can try, but don't hold me to a promise. Don't expect to hear from me very soon. I'll contact you only if we succeed in locating her. If we don't, you won't hear anything—so don't wait for word from us. We've come a long way with this, but there's a long way yet to go." She withdrew three hundred-_krona_ bills and pressed them into Lukas' hand, making him gasp.

"Leslie, this is far too much. Wait while I—" he began, leaping to his feet.

She shook her head. "No, don't bother. You were more help than I dared hope you could be, and that's the least I can do for all your assistance."

Lukas turned the bills over in his hands, sighed heavily and slid them into his pocket, then stepped toward her and grasped her hands in his. "You have given us more than we ever thought to receive, Leslie Hamilton, and we're in your debt—even if only I am aware of it." He smiled at her and planted a soft kiss on her cheek. "I should be thanking you, and I do, believe me. Even if we never find her, we at least know what became of her."

She smiled. "Maybe we'll both find some answers in the end. Thank you for all your hospitality and help, Lukas. It's time I got home to Fantasy Island."


	5. Chapter 5

§ § § -- October 19, 1993

After calculating the time difference, Leslie called Fantasy Island around seven the next morning, having spent the bulk of the previous afternoon making changes in her itinerary. A thought had occurred to her on her way back to her hotel and she had decided to make a short detour on her way home. Now she waited in the dim morning light for the ringing phone to be answered.

"Yes," she heard Roarke's voice.

"Oh good, you're there," said Leslie with some relief. "I didn't know if you'd be out of the house or not."

"It's only Tuesday, Leslie," Roarke said, sounding a little confused. "Has something gone wrong? You aren't due home for another week."

"I know," she said, "but there's been a change in plans. I'm flying out of here in about an hour, and from Copenhagen I'm flying to New York City and renting a car for an overnight stay. I need to check on my grandmother's grave; I haven't seen it since I was eight years old and we moved to California."

"But you could have spent your full planned ten days in your current locale and still done that," Roarke pointed out. "Why are you changing things now?"

"I've had some astounding news," Leslie told him. "It's too big to tell you over the phone. I'll explain everything when I get home, but you should expect me on the last charter on Thursday. Please don't tell anyone else—I'm probably going to be too tired to want to deal with an entire welcoming committee."

Roarke chuckled. "All right, Leslie, but I must say, you've aroused a great deal of curiosity in me," he confessed readily. "How are you feeling? I will warn you now—Friday morning, we are going to see Dr. Lambert so that she can assess your condition, since I know all too well you will want to resume working this very weekend."

"You have me pegged," Leslie admitted ruefully, sighing. "I suppose you're going to forbid me."

"That depends on the doctor's verdict," Roarke said. "At any rate, I look forward to hearing whatever it is you've found out. I'll meet the last charter two days from now, and I will see you then, my child, all right?"

"I'm looking forward to coming home," Leslie said, "as much as I've enjoyed my trip. I think the best part was my visit with Tattoo and Solange and their kids. But it's going to be so good to come home and sleep in my own bed again."

"I'm sure of that," Roarke agreed. She could imagine him smiling as he spoke. "For the moment, you had better get to the airport; we wouldn't want you to miss your plane."

§ § § -- October 22, 1993

It was a singular relief to land in the lagoon and taxi toward the familiar plane dock; Leslie leaned eagerly forward in her seat and searched what little she could see of the clearing through the A-frame-shaped landing ramp. But sunset had already come and gone and she couldn't see very much. It was all she could do to let the arriving passengers, of whom there were mercifully few, file off the charter before her; but once she was off, she all but ran down the dock, spying Roarke waiting beside a car whose headlights were still on.

He brightened when she rushed off the dock and across the clearing, and they met in a long, hard hug. "Hello, Leslie, and welcome home!" Roarke greeted her.

"Hi, Father…it's wonderful to be back and to see you again!" she exclaimed happily, squeezing him and then stepping back. "Boy, you really are a sight for sore eyes."

"Indeed!" Roarke said, eyebrows popping up with interest. "I don't doubt for one moment that you're full of stories and can't wait to tell them, but first things first. Have you eaten anything? Mariki somehow found out about the change in your itinerary and has a veritable feast waiting for you."

"Then she's extremely fortunate that I haven't had a chance to eat since I took off from LaGuardia this morning," Leslie said dryly, evoking a laugh from Roarke. "I guess in that case, we'd better get home so she can serve it. And I can tell you some of those stories you mentioned while we're eating." She stopped and frowned. "Didn't you eat?"

"I decided to wait for you," Roarke said, lifting her suitcase and laying it into the middle seat of the car. "Hurry, it's growing dark very quickly."

They settled into the car and Roarke drove back along the Ring Road to the main house, which seemed to welcome Leslie with golden light warming the windows and the table on the porch spotlighted by the lit ceiling fan that turned lazily there. Roarke noticed his daughter drinking in the sight as he stopped the car just past the walkway to the porch, and smiled. "Tell me again how long you were gone?" he teased her.

She turned to him and grinned. "Say what you will," she said good-naturedly, "but to quote a certain fictional Kansas farm girl, 'there's no place like home.' "

"Indeed," Roarke concurred. "Very well, then, suppose you take your things inside and we'll have the evening meal. Just leave your bags in the foyer, and you can unpack after we have finished."

Mariki welcomed Leslie with a hug and promptly began loading the table with dishes while she and Roarke watched. Finally Leslie held up her hands. "Father was right—you've got enough food here to feed ten times as many of us as there are! Gosh, Mariki, are you planning to feed the entire fishing village with the leftovers?"

Mariki shrugged and grinned at her. "I simply thought you'd like to take your pick of all your favorites," she said. "Go ahead and take as much as you want. I'll be back out in about half an hour to see if you're interested in dessert." She wheeled her cart back toward the kitchen, and Roarke and Leslie began to peer under serving-dish covers to see what looked appealing.

About ten minutes later they were well into their repast and Leslie was telling Roarke about her experience on Lilla Jordsö. Roarke listened in attentive silence, nodding encouragement now and then, until she finally wound up her tale. She reached for the pitcher of mango juice that Mariki had left behind, poured a glassful and indulged in a long draft while Roarke mulled over what she had told him.

Finally he nodded slowly and focused on Leslie, who by this time had recovered and was watching him expectantly. "First of all, you did some very good detective work," he commended her, "accidental and serendipitous though it may have been. But as you told the young man…what was his name again?"

Leslie reached into her jeans pocket and tugged out the much-folded napkin. "This is the contact information he gave me," she said, handing it to Roarke.

He unfolded it and read what was printed on it. "Lukas Dannegård," he said. "Is he the one with whom you spoke, or was it Kristofer Dannegård?"

"Lukas," Leslie said. "Kristofer is his father—and probably Frida's, too."

"As you told Lukas Dannegård," Roarke said, handing the napkin back to Leslie, "Frida may never wish to find her birth parents or explore her ancestry. You were wise to advise him not to tell his father. Unless we hear from Frida herself, we are powerless to do anything more to help the Dannegård family." He sat back in his chair and gazed somewhere into the gathering darkness that hid the duck pond. "It's quite unfortunate, but the decision is Frida's to make."

"She never wrote to any of us," Leslie said, shaking her head. "I don't understand why not. It's as if she wanted to forget her life before she moved out on her own. I hope nothing happened to her…an accident, amnesia…"

"Until and unless she does contact us, there is no way to find out," Roarke said. He cleared his throat and turned his attention back to his meal. "For the moment, you may as well finish. We're having a late meal as it is, and I want to be sure you get the proper amount of sleep."

Leslie smiled tolerantly and resumed eating as well. She felt a little let down despite herself, but she had known Roarke would deliver just the verdict he had on her revelations, and quietly resigned herself to filing the information away indefinitely.

Upstairs, while she was unpacking and putting her clothing away, she showed Roarke the assorted keepsakes she'd picked up from her visits and layovers. Eventually she unearthed a small box from the bottom of her duffel and presented it to him. "I got this for you," she said a little bashfully, clasping her hands behind her back and watching him as he opened the box and lifted out a gleaming silver paperweight set with a rainbow gem, which she had bought him in Santi Arcuros while shopping with Michiko.

"An excellent choice, Leslie!" Roarke said appreciatively, examining the paperweight with interest. "Thank you very much, my child; this will come in quite handy."

"I hoped you'd like it," she said with a self-deprecating shrug, glancing away from him and noting the time purely in passing. "Wow, no wonder I'm feeling so run-down all of a sudden. It's almost nine-thirty. I hope you don't mind if I call it a night."

"On the contrary, I think it's a very wise idea," Roarke said with an affectionate, paternal smile. "Sleep as long as you wish tomorrow morning, sweetheart, and when you're awake and have had something to eat, we'll pay Dr. Lambert a visit."

She nodded. "Okay, if you insist. But if she thinks I'm still worn out, I'll just have to tell her she needs to factor in jet lag."

Roarke grinned at that. "I'll keep that in mind." His gaze softened and he patted her shoulder. "Don't give up hope in this case of yours, Leslie. Time and experience have taught me that strange and wonderful things often happen in this life."


	6. Chapter 6

§ § § -- October 23, 1993

Leslie was given a clean bill of health and told she could return to her usual duties on Monday, which would give her enough time to fully recover from her jet lag. Julie dropped into the main house just before lunchtime with a room list and brightened so much at sight of her godfather's assistant that both Roarke and Leslie burst out laughing. "Boy, am I glad to see you!" Julie exclaimed cheerfully.

"Oh, sure," Leslie scoffed teasingly. "It's got nothing to do with me—you're just happy not to have to substitute for me anymore. Before you get too excited, you should know that I'm not cleared to go back to work till Monday, so I can get over my jet lag."

"That's still a week earlier than I expected," Julie said. "Here's the weekly list, uncle." She handed a paper to Roarke and regarded Leslie thoughtfully. "You know something? I got a very interesting letter in today's mail, and I thought you'd like to see it." She pulled an envelope from her pocket and handed it to Leslie, who turned it over and studied it with interest. Her eyes popped open when she saw the return address.

"You got a letter from Frida?" she blurted. "What'd she say?"

"Go ahead and read it," Julie suggested, turning then to Roarke. "It's weird, uncle. Considering what she wrote, I don't understand why she didn't address the letter to you or Leslie. It sounds as if she needs your help."

Roarke raised his eyebrows and shifted his gaze to his daughter. "Why don't you read the letter aloud, Leslie," he requested.

She nodded and began, " 'Dear Julie… First I must tell you how sorry I am that I never wrote to anyone on Fantasy Island after I left. All of my time, I spent either working or going to school. I have begun my final year here, but I think my life will change now. I have met a wonderful man named Klaus Rosseby, and he has asked me to marry him.

" 'But I don't know if I should tell him yes, even though I want to. Perhaps you will remember this; I know Leslie would. When I first came to Fantasy Island all those years ago, I never wanted to find the parents I was born to. I never believed I would have a reason to do that. I suppose I was not thinking to my future and what could happen. I think Klaus has a right to know who I really am, and if there is a medical problem in my family, I want to know about it so that we can decide if we want children. And then, there is my mental power…I have to live with this every day, and I am very frightened to tell Klaus of it. If I do, perhaps he will not want me. And if I have children, will they also have this power?

" 'So I need to know who my true parents are. I have no money at this time, but I hope to get enough to make a trip to Fantasy Island soon and be able to ask Mr. Roarke to help me. I have told Klaus that we should have a vacation and come to Fantasy Island when the winter is coldest and we wish so much for warm air and sunshine. So later, I will write to Mr. Roarke and ask him about this.

" 'I don't know if Leslie and the other girls are still on the island. Please give them my love and tell them I hope to see them when Klaus and I come there. With my best wishes, Frida Olsson.' "

The three were quiet, glancing at one another; then Roarke quirked a smile at Leslie and said, "You see? There is one of those 'strange and wonderful things'."

Julie's features took on a befuddled expression, but Leslie grinned. "As always, you're right, Father. Not that I ever doubted you…"

"Of course not," Roarke said as though it were obvious to any and all, and she giggled while Julie shrugged, mystified. Seeing the movement, he turned to her. "Julie, please do me a favor and send a reply to Frida as soon as you can. Tell her to write directly to me without delay, and advise her that she need worry only about airfare here. Send her these, as well." He unlocked a drawer and took out a pair of green charter-plane passes which he handed to Julie. "It's time to arrange a family reunion."

* * *

_There's enough angst on both sides to fill a lagoon when Frida Olsson and the Dannegård family meet at last…but Roarke has a surprise for them all. Stay tuned…_


End file.
